


Good Fortune 7

by Grey (grey853)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M, Series: Good Fortune, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:12:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey853/pseuds/Grey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Simon work together to find Blair.<br/>This story is a sequel to Good Fortune 6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Fortune 7

## Good Fortune 7

by Grey

Author's webpage: <http://grey.ravenshadow.net/>

Disclaimer: Not mine. 

Summary: Jim and Simon work together to find Blair. 

Notes: Thanks to Jenn aka XFreak for all her support. 

Warnings: None. 

* * *

Good Fortune 7  
By Grey 

A thin sliver of light sliced through Blair's skull with a jagged edge, sawing through his brain, the intense pain focused at the left side of his head. He squeezed his eyes shut again, the tiniest movement swelling the agony wider, the hammer blows spreading all over. Pacing his breath, he lay very still, his body slowly checking in. Arms tied behind him ached at the shoulders, his fingers able to move, but barely. He lay on his side on a cold, concrete surface, warmth leached away, his body shaking. He took care to swallow slowly and almost gagged on the sour vomit that slicked his throat from earlier. His own stench triggered another round of nausea and he held his breath to ward off retching. The spinning slowed and he gulped back his panic. 

God, he was seriously fucked. 

Suddenly he heard angry male voices echoing in the long spaces of a warehouse. 

"Listen, mother fucker, I'm not sitting around here all day waiting for you to decide what to do about this shit." 

"You'll sit until I tell you." 

"Fuck that. I'm out of here." 

A body slammed against the wall with a loud thud and then an enraged growl followed. "You're in this as deep as I am, asshole. You're not going anywhere until we settle this." 

The answer came slowly, the words choked. "Fuck, Eddie, I think you broke my nose." 

"Shut the fuck up and let me think." 

"You need to call Jerry. He only wanted us to take care of Burke, not kidnap a cop." 

"He's not a cop." 

"I don't give a fuck what he is. He's hooked up with the cops and they're going to be looking for him. We should've just left him." 

"We needed to know what that dumbfuck told him." 

"Well, we're not going to find out a hell of a lot since you bashed his fucking head in." The voice softened and changed position, became husky, almost seductive. "Besides, he hasn't seen us. We can just leave him here. We don't have to kill him." 

"Get the fuck off me. You're bleeding." 

"And whose fault is that, mother fucker? God, I can't believe you're such a screw up." A loud smack and cry whipped the air. "Jesus, Eddie, stop it." 

"Then shut the fuck up. I have to think." 

The quiet lasted only a few moments before he heard a softer voice. "I'm sorry, Joey. Here, wipe your face off." 

"I'd rather you lick it off." The tone couldn't be dismissed as anything but sexually suggestive. 

"Don't be gross. Now clean yourself up. I've got to figure out what to do about this." 

"I'm sorry, babe. I didn't mean to be such a bitch. I just think we need to take off and hope Jerry doesn't get too pissed about us taking this guy. You know how he gets when you do impromptu shit like this." 

"Jerry said he wanted to be sure Burke didn't talk to anybody. We have to be sure this guy doesn't know about Harrison." 

"Even if he does, so what? Without Burke, there's no case. Even a dumbfuck like me knows that much." 

Eddie's voice hesitated. "You've got a point." Silence followed by the unmistakable sound of kissing led to unzipping and moaning. 

Blair didn't listen anymore as he took slow breaths. Skin clammy, he prayed his gut wouldn't knot any tighter as he moved again. The brief trial brought on yet another round of vertigo. The dry heaves tested his throat and belly, the muscles screaming rebellion. Cold air narrowed in his lungs and the terrible dark sinking to oblivion swallowed him again. 

* * *

Jim circled the Volvo like a predator, the rest of the world blocked out, his senses focused as he zeroed in on anything that might help him find his partner. Nothing else mattered to him. Nothing. 

Blood smeared the back seat on one side and he swallowed back his own fear as he reached in and touched the cushion. A flash of pain seared up his arm as he saw Blair lying unconscious, his hair matted down, his face slack and pale in the shadows. Shaking off the image, he focused on the front seat, tried to note anything different, register anything at all that would clue him in to what happened. And he did. A distinctive smell of another man, a stranger, someone recently driving. He committed it to memory and stood up. 

"Anything?" 

"Nothing we can use in court, but enough to recognize him if I find him." 

Simon nodded, his dark face grim, one hand fisted and slamming into the other. "I want this son of a bitch. I don't care how we get him." 

"No argument here." Jim turned away from the scene and walked back to his truck, an anxious edge to his breathing, his whole body tight with anger. He momentarily rested his forehead on the mirror and chanted a plea inside his head to whatever force in the universe listened to help him find Blair. 

"Jim?" 

"You take Thompson. I'll take Anderson." 

"No. I'll go with you to see Anderson. Thompson might be part of this, but he's not directly involved in taking Blair. Besides, I don't want to waste time with that now. Our main concern is to find Blair before it's too late. We have a better chance with Anderson if we show up together and let him know we mean business." 

Facing his friend, Jim shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea." 

"Why not?" 

"Because you're a captain and I might have to break police procedure." He lowered his voice, his face determined. "I'm going to do whatever I have to, Simon. I don't want you there to stop me." 

The older man touched his shoulder, his eyes black and sparkling with clarity. "Then we're on the same page here. I won't stop you if you promise not to stop me." 

Meeting his gaze, Jim nodded in understanding. "I'm driving." 

"And I'm right beside you." 

* * *

Jerry Anderson sat with his back against the wall as he shook his head. Dark layered hair cut short framed a square face marked by a long knife scar along the right cheek. Blue eyes stared out as he spoke with an arrogant tone, a mix of calm and condescension. "I'm sorry, detective. I've got no idea what you're talking about." 

Clenching his jaw, Jim tossed the crime scene photos of Hugh Burke on the table. "Are you saying you don't know this guy?" 

"I didn't say that. Mr. Burke was a client, sure, but why would I kill him? He owed me money. If he's dead, then I don't get paid. As to your partner, I'm sorry, but I didn't have anything to do with his disappearance." 

"You own Eddie Mansfield. He's the one I want. Where is he?" 

"Eddie works for me, but I never told him to kill anybody, not Burke and certainly not your partner." 

Jim stepped closer, Simon standing to the side. "If my partner's hurt, then whoever's responsible is a dead man." 

Eyes narrowed, Anderson didn't break eye contact. "That sounds like a threat, Ellison." He turned his attention to Simon. "Look, Captain Banks, maybe you should put your man on a leash here and go after someone who is actually involved in this mess." 

"Maybe you should just answer the goddamn questions. Where's Mansfield?" 

Startled by Simon's unexpected response, Anderson fidgeted in his seat. "I don't know. I haven't seen him since this morning. He left after he dropped off an associate at the airport." 

"Where would he go? If something happens to Sandburg, you'll be charged as an accessory. You know someone like Mansfield isn't going to go down alone." Simon stepped closer and leaned forward, his arms braced on the table. "Listen to me carefully. Give us this guy or I swear nobody's going to save you, not Thompson, not even the governor." 

Jim moved closer into range, his face menacingly stony. "Tell us and you might save your sorry ass." 

Anderson took a deep breath as he looked first at Jim and then at Simon, his resolve and calm shattered. His words came out nervous and defensive. "Okay, but I repeat, I had nothing to do with this shit. Mansfield acted without my knowledge." 

Patience gone, Simon barked. "Spit it out." 

"He called and said he had a situation." 

"Situation? My partner's life is a fucking situation?" 

"Settle down, Jim." Simon put an arm out to restrain him and then turned his anger back toward Anderson. "I want everything you know and I want it yesterday." 

"There's this warehouse down on the docks, near Comstock and Deering. It's number twelve. He said he was going lay low there for awhile, but I swear he didn't say anything about kidnapping anybody, much less a fucking cop. The son of a bitch is crazy. He was just supposed to get some money, not pull this kind of stupid shit." 

Jim headed toward the door, using his cell phone to call for back up and an ambulance. Simon followed behind and shouted over his shoulder. "Pray my man's alive, Anderson, and start dialing your lawyer." 

Once outside, he grabbed Jim's arm. "Let me drive this time." 

"No, I'm fine." 

"You're not fine. I'm driving. It's not that far from here, so stop arguing. We don't have time for this shit." 

Reluctantly Jim handed over the keys and climbed in the passenger side of the truck while Simon started the engine. He rubbed his face with both hands and took several long breaths as they roared off together. Jim opened his eyes to see Simon glancing over in concern. "I'm okay." 

"Good, because I need you ready for this, Jim. I don't think I can go in there on my own, not knowing what might be there." "He's going to be alive, Simon. We have to believe that." 

"I know." Simon focused on the road and bore to the left, both hands gripping the wheel even harder. "It's just..." 

"Just what?" 

"I can't lose him, Jim. Not now." His voice wavered, the words broken and choked. 

Gripping his friend's shoulder, Jim squeezed. "You won't." He paused before he added in a softer tone. " _We_ won't." 

Nodding grimly, Simon drove even faster to find the man they both loved beyond reason. 

* * *

Heading through the side entrance, Jim sniffed the air and jerked back. "Fuck." 

"What is it?" 

"Blood. And he's been sick." Guns up, he and Simon entered the building. 

"But it's Blair?" 

"Yeah." Holding Simon back for a moment, he paused, listening, blocking out the rest of his senses. After a few seconds, he swallowed hard. "He's breathing, but it's shallow. His heartbeat's too slow. We have to get in there." 

"What about Mansfield? Any signs?" 

"He's here. I can smell him." Jim crouched down and signaled for Simon to do the same as he whispered. "He's got company." Motioning to follow, Jim headed across the open area quickly and positioned himself behind several high crates. Looking around the edge, he spotted Mansfield and another man sitting on overturned boxes. Lifting three fingers, Jim counted off for Simon. Both men acted in unison to leap out and shout the warning, "Police. Don't move." 

A gun came up and Jim fired, the bullet tearing into Mansfield's chest and throwing his body back into the wall. Another round took him out completely. 

Hands raised, the younger man shouted and pleaded. "Fuck! Don't shoot, man." 

"Where is he?" Simon shoved the companion against the wall and frisked him. He put the gun to his head and repeated, "I said, where the fuck is he?" 

"He's in the back corner behind the throwaway crates. I didn't do it, man. Eddie did." 

Jim kneeled beside Mansfield, checked the neck, and stood up. He wanted to empty the rest of the rounds dead center. "Eddie's dead." 

"Oh, shit." 

While Simon cuffed the prisoner, Jim rushed to the corner, pushing the wooden barriers out of the way. Lying there, his body bound and bloody, Blair opened his eyes. The words scratched the air, the voice raspy and thin. "Jesus, Jim, where the fuck have you been, man?" 

Eyes stinging, Jim blinked several times to clear his vision as he kneeled down. Using his knife, he cut the ropes binding his hands. "God, you look like shit, Chief." 

"My head hurts." 

"I'm sure it does. It's going to be okay." Jim called out. "Simon, we need an ambulance." 

"On it's way." The sirens neared the building as Jim eased Blair over on his back, pushing the matted hair out of his eyes. Pulling out his handkerchief, he wiped away some of the blood and vomit from his friend's face. 

Blair groaned and closed his eyes, his voice growing weaker. "Simon's here?" 

"Right here, Blair. Don't move." Simon squatted beside Jim, his eyes misted over, his hand shaking as he touched the younger man's forehead. "You're safe now." 

Blair didn't answer at first, but held on to Simon while he reached out for Jim's hand as well. He squeezed them both as he whispered, "Love you." 

* * *

Jim ran his fingers along his palm, the memory of Blair's cold hand in his replaying in his mind. Grinding his back teeth, he took a deep breath and crossed his arms around his body. He hated the impotence of waiting. 

Simon stepped to his side, his face serious. "Just got off the phone with Taggart. The guy with Mansfield's puts Anderson in on the Burke killing." 

"Better put him under extra security then. Have we heard anything from Thompson yet?" 

"Not yet. I talked to the Chief and IA though and they've started an investigation." He paused and motioned his head toward the corridor. "Any news on Blair?" 

"Not yet." 

"It's been three hours." 

Meeting the concerned eyes, Jim nodded. "I know. I just asked the nurse again before you got back from the phone." 

"Shit. I hate waiting." 

"Me, too." 

Simon stepped away and sagged down into one of the chairs of the waiting room. Dropping his head to his hands, he rubbed his face and spoke quietly. "He was awake and he knew us. I mean, that's a good sign, right?" 

Flashing on Blair's last words before the EMTs arrived, Jim swallowed hard. "He was so cold, Simon." 

"I know. It was freezing in that fucking warehouse." 

A strange voice interrupted the conversation. "Detective Ellison?" 

"Here." Jim turned to see a middle-aged doctor standing in the doorway. "Are you Dr. Edwards?" 

"Yes, I was told you were with Mr. Sandburg." 

Simon stood up and stepped closer. "We both are. I'm Captain Banks of the Cascade PD. How is he?" 

"He's responding well to treatment. He was suffering from mild hypothermia and dehydration along with a concussion and a laceration to his scalp. Despite that, he's oriented and stable. We stitched up the wound and we're going to admit him for observation, but things look a lot better now than they did when he first arrived." 

Jim closed his eyes, his throat too dry and tight to work. Simon spoke for them both. "Thank you, doctor. When can we see him?" 

"Not for awhile. He'll be transferred up to a room within the next two hours. After he's settled, you can see him for a few minutes, but he needs to rest." 

As soon as Edwards left, Jim slumped into a chair, his mouth slightly open, but his eyes closed against the harsh hospital lights. A large hand rubbed his back between his shoulders and then squeezed his arm. "He's going to be fine, Jim." 

"I know, but..." 

"But what?" 

"We almost lost him. It was so fucking close." 

"Kind of puts things in perspective." 

Jim looked over and met his friend's relieved gaze, his stomach knotted as he realized the huge step he wanted to take. "Yeah, it does, Simon. We need to talk about this whole business with the three of us, but not now." 

"No, not now, Jim, but soon." 

Jim nodded, thinking of the cliff in Peru and the decision to walk off into thin air. Trusting his instincts kept him alive in the jungle. Now faith in Blair might bring him to an even wider chasm, a choice to stay alone or join his guide and Simon for another drastic metamorphosis of his unfuckingbelievable life. 

The End 


End file.
